


Frost Point

by sunshineriver



Category: Life and Death - Stephenie Meyer, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Book: Midnight Sun, Coming Out, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Gay Awakening, Music Nerds, POV Bella Swan, POV Edythe Cullen, Vampire Violence, bella has a personality, choosing career, edythe isn't a stalker, planning for college, romantic connection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28707846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineriver/pseuds/sunshineriver
Summary: Told in both Bella's and Edythe's POV, this is inspired by Twilight, Life and Death, and Midnight Sun. I let Bella's personality shine and brought out the cool backstories of the Cullen/Hale family because, well, WE NEED A PLOT in the first 300 pages (you gave us an amazing canvas to start with, though, Stephenie Meyer, so thank you). I also strengthened a lot of relationships, mostly with Bella--Charlie, Renee, Phil, Jules, Leah, Seth, Rebecca, Rachel (if you don't know who the last two are, that's exactly why I'm including them), Harry, Billy, Angela, and Jessica. I toned down the shiny-new-toy vibe that Bella gets/gives when she starts school, and made it clear that it's NOT okay how persistent Mike is when Bella's not interested. Jessica has (some) more potential to be a good friend. And then we get some bonding with Rosalie, Edythe, and Jules over cars; Bella and Edythe over music; Bella and Carlisle with science; and Phil, Charlie, and the Cullens with baseball.
Relationships: Edythe Cullen/Bella Swan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Frost Point

\- _BELLA_ -

Less than thirty minutes in the air, and my mother already couldn’t fend for herself.

The notification chime interrupted my Collective Soul album. I set down the paperback Phil had gotten me as a farewell present—Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, a morbid take on one of my favorite stories that he and Renée had sworn I _had_ to read—and grabbed my phone. The movement pulled out my earbuds, and I readjusted them as I read the text.

_**Hey sweet girl! Hope you’re doing OK. Do you remember where I put my red blouse, the one with the beads on it? I can’t seem to find it anywhere! Anyway, love you. Hope you have a good flight!** _

I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh. The chorus played in my ears: _Have I got a long way to run._ It couldn’t have been more accurate.

I typed quickly.

_**Yes, it’s at the dry cleaners. You were supposed to pick it up Tuesday.** _

And then, because that sounded caustic, I sent:

_**I love you lots!** _

A few minutes later, my phone chimed again.

_**OMG thank you!!! I love you enough to fill 6 billion pots!** _

I smiled at our little inside joke. We’d been repeating it ever since my kindergarten teacher had used it in a poem. It was laminated in a spiral book filled with drawings and notes to memorialize my first year at school. Renée had gushed over it and kept it in our Good Times Box, buried somewhere in her explosion of a closet. She’d promised to send me whatever items I wanted as soon as I got settled in Washington. But somehow, I doubted I would ever see that spiral book or anything from the Good Times Box again.

My throat closed up, and I gulped down the last of my water. I was _not_ going to cry in front of strangers. I’d gotten lucky enough to have this row of seats to myself, but the middle-aged couple and their spiky-haired son across the aisle had definitely looked my way at least a dozen times since lift-off. It was unusual enough to see a seventeen-year-old girl traveling alone, but a seventeen-year-old girl _crying_? That was a curiosity indeed.

I shoved my phone into my jacket pocket. The waterproof fabric made a crinkly noise, and I cringed. Just another reminder of what I was losing—the clear Arizona sky and bone-deep embrace of the sun—and what I was moving to: the constant onslaught of rain and clouds and the never-ending wall of trees and moss.

I turned up the volume of the next song, “Tremble for My Beloved”. The angsty guitar solo in the beginning matched my mood perfectly. The upbeat melody coming in a few lines wouldn’t fit as well, but maybe I just needed to concentrate. This was a good thing.

 _This is a good thing_ , I repeated in my head. _This is an amazing opportunity to get to know Dad, and he’s happier than I’ve ever heard him before, and Mom has Phil. She’s going to be fine. She’s going to be fine. Cheer up, Bella._

My throat still burned as I read the next two chapters.

* * *

A sharp chill greeted me as I stepped off the plane. The suitcase made a whirring sound behind me as I hurried through the Jetway, praying that the Seattle airport had its heater on full blast. Not quite. I took out a beanie from my carry-on, pulled it down over my staticky, brown hair, and popped the jacket hood over it. The nosy couple and their son passed by, and I picked up the pace again. My tan, freckled skin and obvious aversion to the weather was the perfect segue for small talk. No way in hell was I giving them that chance.

I followed the signs toward baggage claim, enjoying the modern art sculptures and paintings along the way. Some pieces were new, but I recognized several from my past few summer visits.

I stopped in the bathroom so we didn’t have to make a pit-stop on the 3 ½ hour drive to Forks. In the mirror, I rubbed away flecks of mascara and put on fresh deodorant when no one was looking. My stomach had started twisting, like I was actually _nervous_. It was just Charlie. We’d seen each other six months ago, and every year for a month since I was five. He knew what I looked like. He knew what I looked like at three AM, hunched over the toilet with the stomach flu. I shouldn’t be nervous.

But I’d never come to _stay_ before.

Whether this was a good thing or not, it was new.

He put me at ease the instant I saw him.

He held up a poster with cacti and mountains surrounding the words WELCOME HOME, BELLA! Along with a lung-crushing hug and the tickle of his mustache against my cheek, he gave me a bouquet: limonium, baby’s breath, and sunflowers. I couldn’t stop smiling as he took my suitcase and led us toward the parking garage. Amazingly, it wasn’t even drizzling. It was like Mother Nature wanted to give me a warm welcome, too. Well... not _warm_.

“We’ll have to get you a winter’s wardrobe,” he said, referring to my minimal amount of luggage.

“Yeah, I didn’t have a lot of outfits that would work for Forks in January. I mean, I have some long-sleeved shirts. They actually keep you cooler on the hottest days of summer, did you know that?”

“I did not.”

“Yeah. But no sweaters, no coat.”

“I can see that. How are you holding up in that windbreaker?”

“I’m a little cold,” I chuckled.

He laughed and pointed the way up some stairs. “Well, we’ll get you nice and warmed up once we reach the truck.”

I spotted his blue Chevy across the lot and smiled again as another wave of familiarity washed over me. Maybe Washington had never felt like home before, but I was willing to give it a chance.

“So junior year,” Charlie mused when we’d driven for an hour. “You’re almost done with high school. Crazy! Got any plans yet?”

We’d caught up on the most recent events—Phil’s batting average, Renée’s blog, my STEM competitions, and Charlie’s promotion to Chief of Police—and the shift to talking about the future made my stomach flip again.

“I’m working on it. I mean, nothing’s set in stone. But I think something with science. Biochemist or ecologist.”

“I could see that.” He looked away from the road briefly to study my face. “Maybe a marine ecologist. You always loved looking at the tide pools at the beach.”

“Oh! _Sign_ me _up_! Tide pools are the coolest!”

“Right? That was one of my favorite things to do with Billy and Harry growing up.”

“And fishing, of course.”

“And that hasn’t changed!” he grinned.

I bit my lip as I remembered a phone call last Spring that _had_ changed everything. Nearly, anyway. Charlie had practically choked out the news that Billy had had a stroke. Thank God the only permanent damage was paraplegia. Not that that had been easy on anyone. Charlie had teamed up with Harry and Sue Clearwater to make meals, clean the house, and take Jules to school, who was only fourteen at the time. But we were lucky to still have him. If I had anything to say about it, we’d have Billy Black around for a long, long time.

“What about walks on the beach?” I asked gently. “Can you still do that?”

“Yeah. Billy has some all-terrain wheels for his wheelchair. But come to think of it… I can’t remember the last time we did that. Usually, if we can coordinate a day off together, we head to the river, not the ocean.” His eyes brightened. “You have _got_ to try Harry’s new fish fry recipe! It is to die for!”

“Name the date and place, and I’m there.”

Charlie gasped slightly and tapped the steering wheel. “That’s what I should have done! I should’ve invited everyone over for a welcome home party. Oh, the kids would’ve loved that.”

“That’s okay,” I rushed. “You’re all the welcome party I need. I’d rather get settled and… shower… before I see a bunch of people.”

“I guess that’s true. Plus, we’d probably only get to see Seth and Julie. Leah’s working something like three or four jobs right now.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Clearwaters always did know how to work. And the Black twins are in California for college, so…”

“Oh yeah?” My face lit up. “Did they get into that dance school?”

“Rachel did. Rebecca decided to do music production instead.”

“Huh.” I pictured the twenty-year-old girls with their sleek, black hair and gorgeous, russet skin. I’d always envied them for their gracefulness in ballet, something that I had lacked as a nine-year-old in a tutu. “I hope Bex doesn’t give up dance completely. She has too much talent to go to waste.”

“We can’t choose the path that other people follow,” he said sagely. “I bet a lot of people would peg you for a librarian or an editor, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be a scientist.”

I nodded. “Touché.”

We spent the next half hour in silence, then another bopping along to an Oldies station we both liked. I read some more of the book, then had a hilarious debate with him about whether or not I should watch the movie when I was finished.

“I’m too squeamish!” I protested. “Reading about zombies is one thing, but _watching_ them tear a body apart?” I gagged.

He laughed long and hard. “See, that just makes me want to watch it more. You make the funniest faces!”

He lost it again, and I smiled at how young it made him look. The stress lines from his forehead smoothed over, and joy filled his eyes instead of exhaustion. He’d always been the type of person to give one hundred percent at everything he did, and that took its toll at work. Especially now. He needed more moments like these.

“Alright,” I conceded. “Maybe I’ll humor you for your birthday.”

“Okay! I can wait three months.”

Another twenty minutes passed. He changed lanes to pass a minivan in the fast lane.

“Hey, Bells?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got a bit of a surprise for you when we get home. Well… it’s a big surprise, actually. I just want to check with you, to make sure it’s okay. I know you like to take care of yourself, but…”

I looked away. Those words brought me back to September, to the night of my birthday. Renée had sat in front of me in the living room, holding my hands, her hazel eyes glistening with tears.

“You’re my independent girl,” she’d whispered. “You always have been. You don’t want anyone else taking care of you… because you’ve always had to take care of me. But sweetheart, you need to take care of yourself. You need to be a teenager. You need to have a _life_.”

Even thinking the words now made my stomach churn worse than it had in the airport. Because she was right. I had always been more of the parent, and she more the child, and I was grateful— _so_ grateful— that my sweet, harebrained mother had matured enough to speak up and say, “You deserve better.” It was the greatest gift she could have ever given me. But she was also my best friend. Leaving her was the hardest thing I had ever done.

I blinked and brought myself back to Charlie’s confession about a “surprise”.

“But what?”

He scratched the back of his head, where his dark brown hair was speckled with gray. “I don’t know, I thought it might make a nice Christmas present.”

“You already got me a really nice Christmas present.” I waved my phone in the air. “Adding me to your plan is a pretty big deal.”

“I know. But you’re going to need more than that to feel comfortable here.”

“Like what?”

“Like… transportation.”

My eyes bulged. “You didn’t.”

He looked at me, then nodded. “I did.”

“Dad, that’s… Dad!”

“I know! But it was a really good deal, and Julie fixed it up, so it runs great.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to wrap my head around it. _This is a good thing, this is a good thing_ … “You know, I was going to save up for a car.”

“Well, now you don’t have to. Put your savings toward your new wardrobe or books or college.” His tone softened and gained a salesman-type quality. “Plus, this actually helps you take care of yourself from the get-go. You can drive yourself around instead of depending on other people for rides.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth. He had a point. This _would_ help me take care of myself… and it would also be an opportunity to _accept_ help from someone else. Two birds in one stone.

“Alright,” I said. “You win. That is a pretty great Christmas gift.”

His whole face brightened. “You’re going to love it! It’s a 1963 Chevy, kind of a faded orange-red color. Really cool, and sturdy.”

“Of course it’s a Chevy,” I chuckled. “You said Jules fixed it up?”

“Yeah. It was her pet project for the past four months or so. Seriously. I think you’ll love it.”

Again, his enthusiasm brought me around. “I probably will.”

\- _EDYTHE_ -

“Are you sure about this?”

Alice raises an eyebrow at me. _Are you seriously questioning an oracle_?

“You’re not an oracle,” I snort.

“It sounds cooler than soothsayer!” _Or more reliable anyway_. “And yes. I’m sure. He’s been doing really well. He’ll do even better if he can sense your faith in him.”

I chew my lower lip. Jasper _will_ have a higher chance of success if I can shut down my cynicism. Ha! Like that will ever happen. It’d be easier to turn off my telepathy than to ever stop being a skeptic.

“What?” she thinks, studying my smirk with both of her eyebrows furrowed together now.

“Nothing. You’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“To everybody’s annoyance, yes.”

“Oh come on, Edythe. You know you love me.” Her black eyes sparkle mischievously.

I lean against the couch cushions and drape my legs over the side. “Just how _much_ is the question.”

I see myself in her mind, from her perspective, standing above me. Long limbs, dark clothes, and strands of my bronze hair framing my sarcastic expression perfectly. The picture of sass and nonchalance. Or _moodiness_ , according to Alice.

“No, you’re right,” I repeat. “He’s managing quite well. We’ve all been where he is, and we’ve all had to test our limits at some point.”

 _So why not now_? she thinks exuberantly.

“Exactly,” I murmur. “Why not now.”

“So the hunt is off.”

“The hunt is off.”

“And you’re going to be optimistic and supportive about this?"

“I’ll try my darndest.”

Her gaze settles on a point in front of her, and a vision plays at light speed in her head. “Good. The future feels stronger now. There’s still room for hiccups—if someone moves too close, if one of those idiots plays Bloody Knuckles again...”

She rolls her eyes, and the memory of Jasper’s last close encounter flashes to the surface. The teenagers hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. In fact, they were following the mildest levels of the distasteful mantra “boys will be boys” to the T. But Jasper happened to be within a ten-foot radius. If Emmett and Rosalie hadn’t been there to pull him away, our conversation about _those idiots_ would be quite different. Alice might call them _those poor souls_ instead.

“But I’m hopeful.” She hops up on her toes for a second, shrugging her shoulders and smiling brightly, then dashes to the bedroom that she and Jasper share upstairs.

Hopeful, but never confident. That is the best that either of us can be: a jaded mind-reader and a psychic whose visions depend on the tiniest decisions of the people around her. Life can change in a millisecond. In fact, it usually does for us. That's all it takes to change from our boring human personas to the raging, bloodthirsty monsters beneath. A tiny moment, the slightest movement, and a breath.

\- _BELLA_ -

I licked the last of the mint chocolate chip ice cream from my spoon. “Please, sir, may I have some more?”

Charlie laughed at my posh British accent. “I suppose I can spoil you on your first night here.”

“Are you kidding? Knowing you, you’ll spoil me _every_ night I’m here.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” He took my bowl to the kitchen and came back with another scoop on top of a warm, walnut brownie. 

“Mm,” I moaned happily as I took a bite. “I think I could get used to this.”

“Me, too,” he said, and his smiling eyes found mine. “Great dinner, heavenly dessert… and crappy reality shows.”

I laughed. “We don’t have to watch Top Model on a regular basis! I just wanted to see what the hype was about.”

“Renee’s a fan, huh?”

I cut another section of brownie and soaked it in the milky puddle at the bottom of the bowl. “She likes the makeovers. And she doesn’t mind the drama.”

Both of our expressions became more somber. Even now, sixteen years later, I could hear the love he still had for my mom in the way he said her name. He still had some photographs of her around the house: hugging and laughing on a carnival date, cutting the cake at their wedding, holding me as a newborn in front of a soft, sunlit window…

They didn’t have much time together after that photo shoot. Overwhelmed, tired, and angry, my mother had stormed out the door in the middle of the night with four-month-old me asleep in the car seat. I didn’t even have to imagine what Charlie would have looked like after the door slammed shut in his face. I caught glimpses of that pain every now and then: after a long day at work or a particularly emotional case, or even during joyful events, when he saw other people finding their happily-ever-afters, and he still felt alone.

I scooted closer to him on the couch and lay my head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around me instantly, and his lips pressed against my hair.

“I love you, you know that?”

My mouth curved into a grin, and I closed my eyes. “You, too, Papa Bear.”

I felt his chuckle against my ear. “Actually, that model there kind of looks like Goldilocks.”

I looked back at the TV screen and couldn’t help but giggle. “Poor Molly. Her makeover was a disaster.”

“Now, don’t you get attached to this show! This is a one-time thing, remember?”

“Maybe I’ll trade you Pride and Prejudice and Zombies for America’s Next Top Model.”

He pulled away to give me his best scowl. “That’s a dirty move, Isabella.”

“You taught me everything I know.” I batted my eyes at him sweetly.

“Oh, believe me, I’ve still got a few tricks.” He snatched my bowl and held it as far away from me as he could.

“Hey! Don’t you dare. You had your own!”

“Everybody knows the forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.” He held me back with one hand and took a bite of my dessert with the other, using his knee to keep it balanced. “Mm. You’re right. It’s nice to be spoiled.”

I wriggled free and yanked the bowl out of his hands. He gave in easily and settled himself onto the other side of the couch. “Cheater," I scolded. "You’re, like, five times stronger than me.”

“Have to be to take down those wild criminals.”

“And I’m sure there’s a lot of those here in little, old Forks.”

“You’d be surprised,” he said, turning somber again.

I ate my last bite and set the bowl on the coffee table. The clock above the TV read 9:30. I picked at some lint on my socks, then cleared my throat. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, sweet girl?”

I smiled at the nickname that he’d picked up from Mom. “I think I’ll go to school tomorrow.”

He frowned. “Really? You don’t want to take a few days off to get settled?”

“What more settling do I have to do? My suitcase is unpacked, the bathroom’s already loaded with all my stuff, _and_ I even have a car. Which is awesome, by the way. You were right.”

“ _Totally_ suits you. Make sure to send the photos I took to your mom.”

“Good idea. Maybe she can add them to her blog.” I smirked as I pictured her typing away at her computer with her tongue out, trying to come up with the best caption for my goofy, wide armed display of my new ride. “But yeah, I’m ready. I’ve got to maintain that 4.0 GPA.”

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll be valedictorian.”

“Ha!” I shook my head. “No, I’m not actually 4.0. Just in Science and English. Everything else is… _meh_.”

“Well, I’m still proud of your _meh_ grades, too.” He grinned. “You’re sure, then? You don’t want more of a break?”

“I’m sure. You have to work, anyway, so…”

He made a face. “I wish I could have gotten two days off in a row.”

“That’s okay. You’ve got those wild criminals to chase down, right?”

“Yep. Crime never sleeps.”

I yawned. “Speaking of sleep, I think I’ll get ready for bed. Do you need to pee before I shower?”

“Nope, go ahead. I love you.”

“Love you lots.”

A few steps before the top of the stairs, I heard him mutter, “Enough to fill six billion pots.”

* * * 

Rain pounded on the roof all night, as if it was trying to make up for lost time. I listened to Lewis Capaldi to drown it out, but every quiet moment or break in between songs brought my awareness back to the _tap-tap-tap_ on the house. Around three, I gave up and turned on my lamp to read. I was a few chapters from the end by the time I drifted off to sleep.

Charlie greeted me at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee and an empathetic smile. “How many hours?”

“Two. Maybe a little more.”

“I figured. It was pretty loud last night.”

“I’ll get used to it.”

“You always do.” He drank some of his own coffee and looked out the kitchen window. Rain continued to drip down the stained glass. It was pretty; I couldn’t deny that. And it was my mother’s idea, so it always made me feel close to her. A rising sun gleamed at the bottom to match the yellow of the cabinets. A little bit of sunshine in this dull, wet place.

“Are you sure you want to go to school today?" Charlie asked.

I took a sip and nodded. “Yup. This isn’t the first time I’ve stayed up reading to the wee hours of the morning.”

“True. Or studying your brains out.” He shook his head. “Schools really should cut back on the amount of homework.”

“Agreed. I’m definitely not going to be the only exhausted student.”

He tilted his head back to get the dregs at the bottom of his mug. “Alright. Well, I’m going to have to head out in a few minutes. Do you need anything else before I go?”

“No. Have a good day.” I gave him a cheerful grin.

He got to his feet and kissed my forehead. “You too, Bella.”

I sat there for a while, watching the rain and filling myself with caffeine. Eventually, I convinced myself that I needed to have _actual_ sustenance in my body and scrambled some eggs on toast. Charlie had my favorite cheese, so of course I dumped a handful of that into the pan. Lactose intolerance be damned. 

By the time I washed the dishes and put them away, my brain had kicked itself into gear, and I took the stairs two at a time. I had twelve minutes until I had to leave. What to wear, what to wear? My phone claimed it was a mere thirty degrees. A whole twenty-two degrees colder than back in Phoenix.

I settled for a camisole under a blue denim button-up and a thick, white pullover. My faux fur boots felt tight against my wool hiking socks, but darn it, I was warm. I grabbed my bag and my beanie and thumped back downstairs, where I added two more layers: the crinkly jacket and a knit scarf. 

“Alright,” I breathed. “Time to drive.”

I couldn’t help but grin as I stepped outside. As soon as I turned fifteen and a half, I’d gotten my permit and insisted on driving Mom everywhere. She couldn’t afford to get me my own car when I got my license, so I used her little, beat-up Toyota Camry. And that was fine with me. Having the freedom to just _take_ myself somewhere whenever I wanted was like sucking in the fresh air at the top of a mountain. Refreshing, joyful, and liberating. 

Charlie knew me so well.

I ran my hand along the red-orange hood as I circled around to climb into the truck. I hadn’t thought of a name yet, but it had to be something classy and strong. Maybe Robert? No, too boring.

I turned on the heaters and ran through the steps of driving a stick-shift in my mind. Good thing Phil had taught me when he came into the picture. Of course, I hadn’t practiced in the rain, but as long as I was careful, I shouldn’t have any problems. I cringed to think of what would happen when it snowed.

Finding the school was easy enough. It sat a couple blocks away from the police station, and there was a building next to it with a brown, metal tower. The front entrance looked ordinary enough with red brick and pillars, but from the sides, it resembled a townhouse with the different apartments painted yellow or blue. I parked in front of the building labeled FRONT OFFICE and took a deep breath. _Mulan_ came to mind, and I couldn’t help but quote it. 

“Dayyyy one.” 

Inside, I stomped off some moisture and marveled at the amount of plants they had—hanging from the ceiling, sitting in corners, and covering the window sills. Wasn’t there enough greenery outside? 

I approached the main desk with an echo of yesterday’s nerves twisting my gut. The curly-haired woman seated there looked friendly enough, but friendliness could also mean chattiness, and chatter meant trying to come up with interesting things and failing miserably and standing there with red, hot cheeks until they finally left you alone. I breathed in and out again, slowly. _It’s okay. No one’s going to bite your head off._

I forced a smile. “Hello.”

She looked up and adjusted her horn-rimmed glasses. “Yes, dear?”

“Um, I’m, uh… Isabella Swan. I’m new.”

Her eyes brightened, and she dug through a stack of papers on the counter. “Yes! Wonderful! Let me find your map and schedule... Aha! Isabella. Your dad says you go by Bella, though, right?”

I perked up. “Yeah.”

“That’s very pretty. I’m Ms. Cope. Welcome to Forks High School!”

* * * 

The first two classes were a breeze: English and History. Next came Trigonometry, which I would have hated anyway, but Mr. Varner was the first teacher to make me stand at the front of the room and introduce myself. I stumbled over my words and then my feet on the way back to my desk. So that went great.

A couple of kids said hi to me or asked me mundane questions, but they mostly kept to themselves. I overheard one girl mention that she had ASL fourth period, and I followed her as inconspicuously as possible so that I didn’t have to use the map. She noticed me when we got to the right building because she had to step aside for a group of kids to walk out. Her makeup creased a little as she smiled.

“Hey. You’re Isabella, right?”

“Just Bella.”

“That’s right! You said that. I’m Jessica. Are you taking ASL, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Great! You can sit next to me, if you want.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

She held the door open and let me enter first. I could smell her french vanilla perfume. 

“So what made _you_ decide to take ASL?” she asked as she shrugged out of her coat. 

“Um… I think it’s important. I mean, there are a lot of deaf or hard of hearing people out there, and we should be able to communicate with them.”

“I know, right? They can feel pretty excluded otherwise. It’s sad.” She hung her coat on a peg outside the classroom door and waited for me to do the same. 

I wrapped my damp hair behind my ears and went through Mrs. Goff’s door. “What about you?” 

“My brother’s Deaf. He’s only four, so we’re all still learning.”

“That’s cool. I mean, not cool that he’s deaf…” I sat down at an open desk and stared at its glossy surface.

She chuckled. “It’s okay. It is cool, in a way. I mean, it’s a beautiful language, and Xander’s eyes light up whenever strangers sign to him.”

“I bet.”

Mrs. Goff called us all to order with a gentle voice and fluid hands. I was halfway to believing that she would be my favorite teacher when she said, “We have a new student with us today. Ms. Swan, would you like to introduce yourself?”

I stifled a groan, and Jessica chuckled again.

“You’ve got this,” she said.

_\- EDYTHE -_

The cafeteria lady slaps down a sorry excuse for turkey on top of my mashed potatoes. Gravy spills over the edge of the tray section and mixes with my peas. 

A memory flickers to mind: a younger version of me, six or seven, refusing to eat dinner because the food was touching. The picture is hazy—I had such poor eyesight as a human—but I can make out my mom’s face. Blue eyes, freckled cheeks, and a smile that told me she loved me but was sick of my antics.

I smirk and pay for the meal. That part hasn’t changed with my new family.

The cacophony of sounds around me peaks as I cross the cafeteria: silverware scraping against plastic; mouths chewing; liquid sloshing; pages flipping back and forth; pens scratching; fingers, feet, and phones tapping; rain pelting the windows and roof; air whirring out of the heating vents; and voices. Oh God, the voices. Shouting, laughing, talking over each other, high-pitched, gravelly, and everything in between. And those are just the ones I hear out loud. People’s thoughts can sound like anything, or be completely silent and full of pictures. It depends on the brain. But all of it swirls together like a fog that I have to walk through every day at school. 

It’s more like _mist_ when I’m at home with my family. There are only seven of us, and we are remarkably less twitchy than the three hundred and fifty human students here.

Wait. I listen closer to three of the mindvoices at the opposite end of the room. There’s a new kid. Three hundred fifty one.

I make it to the table in the farthest corner, where two of my siblings sit in front of their untouched trays. Emmett holds up a small mirror while Rose tosses her golden hair into a messy bun, one of the latest trends that she’s following as a part of her “growing up story”. As a sophomore, it was pink lip gloss and braids; junior, cat eyes and blowouts; senior, full face of makeup and whatever the hell she feels like: curls, buns, French twist, pin-straight, you name it. She’s supposed to be “figuring out who she is, or who she wants to be”. Alice loves it, of course; she has an entire computer program dedicated to Rosalie’s fashion designs. 

And certainly, Rose adores playing dress up and catching the attention of anyone who walks by. But I can see it in her eyes, the same thing that I feel: she’s tired of high school. She’s tired of playing the game. There are only so many things we can do to spice up our human experience each time we matriculate. 

Emmett took the most imagination. Passing him off as a tenth grader was not an easy feat. Baggy clothes and bad posture only did so much to hide his size and muscle. Now, two years later, he wears tight shirts and puffs out his chest. Naturally, he enjoys it. He may not have gotten a special gift like Alice, Jasper, and I, but he is extraordinarily capable of finding fun in any situation. Lucky bastard.

I watch him tuck one of Rosalie’s strands behind her ear. Her lips curl back to reveal her perfect, white teeth, and both of their thoughts melt into mush. I’m glad they’re happy, I swear, but they’re downright gross sometimes.

Rosalie catches my grimace and sticks her tongue out at me.

I laugh and eat my veggies.

Jasper and Alice join us a moment later, both sporting a more sophisticated style than their nerdy T-shirts last year. They’re holding hands, but gauging from the undercurrent of worry in Alice’s thoughts, it’s not just for affection. She’s holding him back, or giving him something to hold on _to_. Just in case one of the more graphic futures in her head becomes a reality.

I scan his brain. He’s pushing away temptations left and right: a boy whose heart is pounding from running across the room, a girl scratching a scab on her elbow, and any kid who walks too close past our table. 

_I can do this. It’s fine. It’s not even that bad. I’m not that thirsty…_

Lies, of course. I can see the scene that he creates, one with quick hands and sharp teeth. And red. Dark red oozing and dripping and splashing and gushing…

I inhale sharply and fill my mouth with potatoes. The bland flavor does little to quench the spark of fire in my throat, the craving for something sweeter, but it’s better to distract my senses before the sounds and smells of the humans around us start to overwhelm me, too.

Jasper looks up, his black eyes pained. Not merely from his agony, but from mine. Just like I know everything he thinks, he feels all that I feel. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

I wave a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

The others don’t miss a thing. Rosalie’s head tilts, and she asks, “Do you want to talk about something? Something to divert your attention?”

“Yes, let’s.”

Emmett lights up. “Funniest moment from the Civil War, go!” 

Everyone chuckles. We’ve played this game over two hundred times, but somehow it never loses its appeal for my giant, adopted brother.

Jasper’s tortured expression melts into one of fondness and amenability. “Well, there’s always the time my bunkmate fell off his horse into a pile of manure.”

Emmett’s eyes widen. “You’ve waited _this_ long to tell me that happened?”

“We can wait even longer if you don’t hush up.”

“Tell me _everything_!”

Grinning now, Jasper begins the story, lapsing into his Texas accent a little more with each sentence. Alice kisses his hand, practically singing with appreciation. His rich, Houston twang has softened in the past few decades, much to her disappointment. She’s told me more than once that his voice was a part of what stole her heart when she saw her first vision of him. 

_He sounded so kind and down to earth_ , she said. _I just_ had _to get to know him_.

The memories playing in her and Jasper’s minds, combined with the laughter from my other siblings and the fog of noise behind me, all become too much. I put on my headphones. They don’t cancel out everything, but that’s not the point. Silence, after ninety years of supernatural hearing and telepathy, is unsettling to me. 

But music? 

Music is a sound I can _choose_. 

And I’ll take that any day.

I swipe through my playlists, pursing my lips as I try to figure out what vibe feels right. I settle on my newest purchase, Skillet’s album _Collide_. The heavy guitar and drums bring an automatic smile to my face.

Rosalie, however, gives me an irritated look. _Again? Seriously?_

I lift my hand and eyebrows as if to say, _What? It’s good_.

I’ve cycled through my favorite songs a couple of times when Alice gets up. I tune into her thoughts to hear her plans for going on a walk with Jasper outside, to give him some cleaner air. She rehearses the different options carefully. What happens if they leave before the bell rings? How about after, when everyone is up and moving again? What happens when they come back into the building? Or if they play hooky for the rest of the day? 

By the time she’s dumped her half-eaten lunch into the garbage bin, she’s made her decision. She walks a little too quickly back to the table. 

“Hey, Jazz, do you want to go get some dessert? My treat?” She grins at him as she sits back down. 

A flicker of resilience passes through Jasper’s expression, followed by relief. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

“You’ve done great,” Rosalie says. “Three weeks and a day. That’s a huge accomplishment.”

“Well, half a day,” Emmett chuckles.

“It still counts. And it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Alice watches Jasper take away his own tray, then turns her black gaze to me. 

“Dessert, Alice?” I say. “Really?”

She nods toward my own food. “It’s better than this, anyway.”

They leave, and I focus back on Skillet. A minute later, another mindvoice distracts me. 

_Edythe_ _Cullen_.

I look up automatically. I’ve been training not to for years—it’s not the most subtle thing to jerk your head in the direction of someone the second they think of you—but I’ve isolated myself so well at this school that my name doesn’t pop up much anymore. It was easier to tune out when every student’s head buzzed with the mystery of _the pale, gorgeous Cullens_. 

Now, when everyone tends to ignore me, the mention of my name is like a shout in a quiet room. I’m drawn to it.

I spot them at a distant table, two brunettes huddled close, whispering. Or at least one of them is whispering, the one whose thoughts are still rattling in my head. 

“...she’s the only one who’s single. All of the others are together. Like, _together_ together.” _It’s so weird. Like, they’re_ foster _siblings. How could their parents allow that?_

I look away. I’ve had the misfortunate honor of listening to every single human we’ve ever encountered question our family structure in this way, but no amount of arguing on my part has ever made a difference. The romantic looks and touches that my siblings share would give them away, anyway, so why hide? I suppose it gives the humans another reason to avoid us. We’re too weird. Too unnatural. Which is exactly the response we’re looking for.

“Wait. You mean they’re dating each other?” the girl next to her asks. I can only hear her verbally, and it occurs to me that this must be the new kid. It can take a little while to pick up on someone’s thoughts for the first time, especially when we’re this far apart. 

As much as I’d like to crank up my music more and tune out this rehashing of gossip, it’s my job as the family telepath to make sure that no one gets too curious about us. I decrease the volume and focus on the teenager Jessica keeps referring to as _Bella_.

“Yeah! Emmett’s with Rosalie, and Jasper’s with Alice.” _That’s probably not even legal._

“Well, they’re not technically related.”

 _Are you kidding me?_ “But they live together! Like, what if they all get adopted?” _Not that I blame them. If I lived with boys that looked like that… Hoo!_

I smirk, but then my brow furrows together. I’m only getting Jessica. Normally, I can zero in on a person’s head as long as I know their general location. I saw exactly where Bella was sitting, but there’s no mindvoice coming from that seat.

Did she move? I glance back to check, but there she sits, her dark brown hair and tan skin a sharp contrast to her light sweater. Her eyes meet mine for a moment—probably brown, but even my enhanced vision can’t tell from fifty feet away—and she blushes.

I break the connection before she can. I don’t need to be tempted any more than I was thirty minutes ago, listening to Jasper’s fantasies.

“No, I get it,” she mumbles to Jessica. “It’s a little unorthodox. But whatever makes them happy, right?”

I press the volume button again and circle the table with my gift. 

Mike Newton, planning to ask Bella to sit with him in Biology today since his lab partner is out of town.

Angela Weber, figuring out a math equation on her homework assignment.

Eric Yorkie, imagining the cool tricks he can do with his current STEM project. 

And back to Jessica, wondering how on earth Bella could be supportive of something so scandalous.

It’s like there’s no one else sitting at that table. Just the four Muskateers, or “Mikeateers” as Newton came up with a few months ago. That earned him a couple of groans and a sweet roll lobbed at his head. 

I scoff. This is unprecedented! I have never had this much trouble reading someone. Is there something wrong with me? I can hear everyone else just fine. Even the janitor on the opposite side of the school comes through—a little muffled, but coherent.

“What’s wrong?” Rosalie asks me. Both she and Emmett are staring at me.

“The new girl,” I say, my voice so low that only they can hear me. “I can’t read her mind.”

Emmett leans forward. “You’re kidding!”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s never happened before.”

The bell rings, and the noises behind us intensify. 

“It’s fine,” I tell them. “She’s all the way across the room. Maybe she’s too far for the first time.”

“Maybe,” Rose murmurs.

I stand up with a fake smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll try again in Biology. I overheard someone thinking that she has Mr. Molina next.”

“That’s lucky,” Emmett says. 

“Yeah. Hey, are we still on for that wrestling match tonight?”

“Hell yeah!” He grabs his stuff with one hand and points at me with the other. “You’re going down!”

We fist bump, and I follow him toward the exit.

Rosalie stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Keep us updated, okay?”

I flash my teeth again. “Of course! That’s what sisters are for, right?”

I walk out the door before she can say anything else.

. . . 

Mr. Molina smiles obligingly when I walk into class wearing headphones. He decided months ago that as long as I continue to ace the assignments, I can do whatever the crap I feel like. It’s not that I don’t like Biology; I actually studied it at a couple of universities so that I would have more to talk about with my adoptive father Carlisle; but after earning two medical degrees, all of the high school level courses sound like the same boring mush. So rather than subject myself to hearing the same lectures over and over, I drown it out with heavy metal, techno, or rock. Whatever loud, emphatic genre distracts me best that day. 

More than just blocking out the physical things I don’t want to hear, blasting my iPod helps me focus on Mr. Molina’s mind. Raised by a Brazilian mother and a Honduran father, his thoughts slip back and forth between Portuguese, Spanish, and English. I’m not yet fluent in the first, but I expect that I will be by the end of term. 

Language fascinates me. Like music, it holds intricacy and beauty, often in unexpected ways. Dialects, slang, sign language versus spoken… All of it changes from country to country, person to person, and over again with each new generation. I could live a thousand years and cross every inch of the seven continents, and never run out of words to learn. 

Thank God.

I sit down at the front of the class, right by the windows. I make sure to remain at an angle at first, so that while I dig through my shoulder bag for my textbook and notes, I can gauge the distance between Mike’s table and mine as inconspicuously as possible. It’s empty now, but I remember that he takes the right chair, and his partner June Richardson takes the left. Meaning that if Bella accepts his invitation—and I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t—then she’ll be merely ten feet away.

I smirk. There’s no reason that I shouldn’t be able to read her from that proximity. 

My lips falter, and I slap the books in front of me. There’s no reason that I shouldn’t have been able to read her from across the cafeteria, either. If she sits ten feet away from me for an entire hour, and I _still_ can’t hear her thoughts… it’ll be torture. Because I’ll have no way to understand why.

The late bell rings, and Mr. Molina gets to his feet. He’s debating if he should start with a nerdy joke or not, a common enough dilemma that several of the students are wondering which path he’ll take. Before he can get a complete greeting out of his mouth, however, two more people enter the room. His internal irritation at being interrupted is pushed aside for his excitement to meet Bella, who, according to a memo from the guidance counselor, has the potential of being his star student. _Besides Edythe_ , he laughs to himself. _Oh! I could pair them together! Yes, they would make quite the team! Perhaps that would help Edythe come out of her shell. Poor girl really is bored out of her mind. She’s smart enough that she could probably_ teach _the class. Oh. No. She hated the idea of being a tutor when I brought it up. Yes, she would much prefer having a partner who can keep up with her intellectually._

He thinks all of this within the first three steps that Bella takes into the room. She’s hidden behind Mike at first, so I can only catch glimpses of her elbow as she clutches her backpack strap. With a touch of formality, Mike steps aside so he can hold out his arm in Bella's direction. Showing her off to Mr. Molina.

And then I breathe.

And her scent crashes into me.

It’s like fire, mixed with sunlight and smoke and something floral, like the sweetest, richest spice. Pungent, powerful, and pleasant. More than that. Intoxicating. Venom floods my mouth, and my muscles coil, ready to spring.

_No!_

I jerk my head to the side and stare at the cracks in the windowsill. I stop breathing. _Refuse_ to. The craving lingers, calls to me, begs me desperately to embrace it, engulf it, engorge myself with it. 

Even with a screaming chorus and growling guitar pounding from my headphones, I can hear Mr. Molina welcoming Bella, and Mike suggesting that they sit together. At least I can’t hear her pulse. Yet. I doubt even Nightwish can keep me from hearing that when she walks past me. I want to reach into my pocket to max out the volume, but I don’t trust my body yet. One false move, one careless moment, and I’ll fling myself over this table and sink my teeth into—

 _Stop, stop, stop it, stop!_ I stab my thighs with my nails until it hurts. _She is not your prey. She is not your prey. She is not. Your. Prey._

Her voice cuts through my music as it hits a quieter part, and I will myself to listen to that sound alone. 

“Oh. Well, that’s very kind of you. Um, I don’t… I mean, if you already have a partner, I don’t want to take her spot. You know?”

The singers and drums take over, and my fingers relax a little. But then I remember it’s less than a minute from the end of the song, and what will stop me from losing control then? 

I need to get out. There is no feasible way that I will survive… no, that’s not right. There is no way that _Bella_ will survive an hour in a room with me. Not when she smells so tempting. Not when I’m this thirsty. 

Goddamn you, Jasper, for putting us in this position. Goddamn you, Alice, for suggesting it. Goddamn _me_ for agreeing to it. How could I have been so stupid? It was never just Jazz who was at risk. Sure, he’s the newest to convert to our ways, but we are insatiable monsters, all of us. Even if we fed every day, even if we drank to the point of bursting, one step too close to a kid with a bad nosebleed could send any of us into a frenzy. 

And this? This siren’s call from the new girl’s blood? This is impossible to say no to.

Especially when she sits right next to me.

I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I missed the end of Bella’s conversation between Mike and Mr. Molina. I realize now, much too late, that my table is the only one with an empty chair besides Mike’s, and since Bella turned him down, Mr. Molina got his wish to pair us together. 

Well, goddamn him, too. And freaking Bella! Why did she have to be so courteous? It’s just one day! June won't even know that her spot was taken. Or even if she finds out because some drama-junkie spilled the gossip, why would June care? I’ve heard her mindvoice often enough to know that as attractive as she thinks Mike is, his willingness to sleep with any vaguely feminine thing does absolutely nothing for her. She might even consider herself lucky to have a reason to switch partners. Wouldn’t Mike love that? I can hear him now, sulking over Bella’s rejection and fantasizing about what might have happened if she’d said yes, and particularly if she said yes to other things…

I wrinkle my nose with disgust. If only _he_ was the one with the appetizing blood. I could snap his neck and drink him dry without a shred of regret.

No. He hasn’t done anything despicable enough to warrant that. He’s horny as hell, yes, but at least he keeps his hands to himself. 

Now, if that were ever to change… well. 

I dig my nails into my jeans again. I can’t think about that right now. Bella is less than a foot away, sending off waves of body heat, and the song is ending.

And I can hear her heartbeat.

Steady, strong, then skipping a little when the people behind us introduce themselves. So she’s not just courteous. She’s shy. 

Meaning she probably won’t talk to me. Good. I can’t afford to have a conversation with her, because I have about fifteen seconds worth of air stored in my lungs, and if I breathe again with her this close…

Oh God. The memory of her smell comes back to me, and my limbs tense up again. I can picture it perfectly: me, leaning over, dragging her hair back, tilting her neck just slightly, and piercing her skin to access the carotid artery, where her sweet, rich blood will flow freely down my own throat until I’ve tasted every drop. 

I want it. I need it.

But what about the others? There’s a whole classroom full of witnesses, and at least half of them will scream. Then people will run. Not just _out_ of the room, but _into_ it as well. People from the hallway and other classes will hurry inside to see what the hell is happening, and then they’ll scream, too. How many students, how many teachers, will know our secret then? How soon before that gossip spreads, and then the whole town, maybe even the whole state, knows?

I don’t care, I don’t care. As long as I can quench this yearning, end this torture. Because yes, this is torture to be in the same room with her. But not because I can’t read her mind. Why should that even matter? She won’t be using it soon, anyway. No. It’s only torture to wait a second longer before I feast. 

I allow myself one moment of amusement before I make my move. How fitting that I should meet Bella face to face while the song “Bye Bye Beautiful” plays. Goodbye, indeed. At least for her. For me, it’s more like _hello_.

Such a shame that it’s already switched over to the next song, “Amaranth”. Oh well. It’s pretty enough. Delicate and almost intimate with the opening keyboard and a choir harmonizing in the background. 

I turn around. 

Drums and guitar explode in my ear. I jump a little, then freeze. Bella is flipping through her textbook, so she doesn’t notice. I think Mr. Molina does because my name passes through his mind with a touch of worry, but then he moves on to the punchline of his joke. 

I don’t hear it. I’m too overcome with horror.

I haven’t been that close to killing a human in years. There are little moments here and there, like with Jasper in the cafeteria, where I have to shut down my imagination, but I’ve always been successful. I’ve never given in so completely to that monstrous side of myself.

 _Almost given in,_ I try to tell myself. But that’s not quite true. If I hadn’t gotten distracted, if I hadn’t kept my headphones on today, I would have killed Bella. In less than a heartbeat.

I would have destroyed everything that my family has worked for. Our privacy, our secret, our home, maybe even our lives. We could try to flee—find a new place with new names and new backstories—but I know the penalty for revealing our kind to the humans. It wouldn’t take long for the Volturi to find us. 

I need to get out. I need to stand up from this chair, walk through that door, and run as far as I can as fast as I can.

But I still can’t move. Especially now that I’m facing her. I have absolutely zero trust in my body right now. I don’t even trust my mind. 

Okay. So maybe that’s step one. Get control of my mind.

The song is still blasting away, as I know it will be for three and a half more minutes. That’ll have to do. 

_Reason number one for not killing Bella: it’ll alert everyone in this room to what you are, and, like you so expertly imagined before, that won’t go well._

Not good enough. Now I’m just coming up with alternative ways to kill Bella, like killing everyone else first. Just a sprint around the room and a few flicks of the wrist. Then nobody can scream because their brainstems are severed, and I can eat my dessert in peace.

My teeth grind together. Nope, not happening. That still leaves me as the prime suspect since I'd be the sole survivor in a class full of dead bodies. And even if no one walked by to see me devouring— _nope, don’t even think it_ —there would still be an obvious bite mark on the side of her— _seriously, stop it, it’s not helping_ —and a sudden lack of coloration to Bella’s tan skin, which would later be proven by an autopsy to be a lack of blood— _oh, son of a half-faced bitch!_

Three minutes left. And I’m nowhere close to gaining control.

I let out an involuntary groan. Thankfully, Mr. Molina doesn’t notice this time. But Bella does.

She looks at me. Her eyes _are_ brown. They’re a few shades lighter than her hair, and they’re outlined faintly with mascara—and concealer to try and cover up the dark circles from a clearly sleepless night. Simple. Pretty. And full of concern.

“Are you okay?”

She whispers it, the question barely making it past the peak of the song’s refrain.

I want to laugh. Or scream. Instead, I focus on reason number two, the one that should honestly matter more than anything else: 

Bella doesn’t deserve to die. She’s nice. Better than that, she’s _kind_. 

So I brace myself. And I release some of my oxygen.

“Yeah, just some bad cramps.” 

That’s it. Just five words pushed out, and no air pulled back in. That’s all I can risk. Because her throat is exposed now that she’s looking at me, and she’s breathing in my direction, and now she’s leaning closer. 

Her forehead creases with sympathy. “Ugh, I’m so sorry. I wish I had some Tylenol to give you. Actually… you know what? Let me check.”

“It’s okay,” I say automatically, then cut off abruptly so that I don’t inhale. Less than ten seconds left of the air in my lungs. _Shut the hell up! What is wrong with you?_

She digs through her bag anyway, and thank the Lord, she comes up empty. She frowns at me and apologizes again, and I shake my head with the least-convincing smile I’m sure she’s ever seen.

The song has moved from the guitar solo to the haunting bridge, which normally gives me those bone-deep chills that only a masterpiece of art can, but today it only drives my dread deeper. I have one minute left until this song ends. Actually, I have about five seconds until the gentle keyboard part comes back, and who knows what will happen when I can hear her pulse again. 

I can’t let that happen.

Shouting reason number two over and over in my head, I bolt upright and throw on my bag. Mr. Molina breaks off mid-sentence, and I hurry over to him with a hushed, “I’m sorry, I have to go to the nurse,” and jog out the door. I want to run at my full, blinding speed, but sadly, that falls into the territory of revealing the family secret, so that’s out of the question. 

I keep jogging until I’m outside the building and halfway across the parking lot.

Then I lift my face to the pouring rain and allow myself to breathe. 

My mind clears instantly. Horror washes over me again, then anger and self-hatred. I bend over and scream into my teeth. It echoes, but nobody is around to hear it. 

At least, nobody human.

“Edythe!”

Alice flashes to my side in an instant, bringing with her a dusty breeze that smells like dirt and pine. She rubs my arms and presses her head against mine.

“Edythe, I am so sorry. I ran back as fast as I could. I knew from my second vision that you weren’t going to do anything, but I wish I had seen the first one sooner—”

“It’s okay.” I straighten and let her see my grief-stricken face. If vampires could cry, I would be sobbing. 

The agony in my chest stabs deeper at the term: vampire. 

We don’t use it often. But right now, that’s all I am. 

And I hate it. Dear God, do I hate it.

Her shoulders slump as she pulls away. “This was a horrible idea. I didn’t even think… I mean, we’ve all had to go without hunting before, sometimes for more than a month, except for Jasper, and even though it sucked, we always made it work. So it barely crossed my mind that it would be hard for us. I was so focused on him.”

“I know you were. We all were. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And neither did you.” She touches my shoulder and stares into my eyes intensely. “I am so proud of you. Do you understand how much strength that took? You’ll be as good as Carlisle yet.”

“Oh, give it a rest.” I remove my headphones just as “Amaranth” ends and yank out the cord from my device. I shove both into my bag. “The fact that Bella is alive and our family doesn’t have to drop everything and move again after only _three fucking years_ has nothing to do with my capabilities. Alright? You saw that first vision because I was milliseconds away from killing her. I had _zero_ control. And the only reason that I stopped is because the right song came on at the right time. I am _nothing_ like Carlisle, okay? Nothing!”

She looks small to me now, small and breakable. If she was still a human, she would be. She barely comes up to the middle of my chest, and her collarbone and wrists stick out prominently. With her short, razor-cut pixie and doll-like eyes that shine gold now instead of black, she reminds me of a fairy. And yet she could break me in half if she wanted to. If I asked her to.

But she would never. No one in my family would end my life, no matter how much I begged. No matter how much I want to die right now.

So what else can I do? 

“What if… Alice, can you test something for me?”

“Name it.”

“What if I switched to a different science class? It seems like that’s the only period I have with her, so if I get rid of that, I should be able to avoid her.” 

She squints, and her thoughts echo mine exactly. It’s not a perfect plan, but it’s worth a shot. She nods, and I make the decision in my head. 

_I’m going to talk to Ms. Cope. I’m going to ask her to switch sixth-hour Biology for another class. Any other class._

She fixates on something far away and watches the future play out. Twelve seconds later, she sighs, and even though I’ve seen the vision with her, she tells me, “No. There’s nothing else available… Crap.”

“A shitload of crap,” I agree.

She smiles slightly. It’s a part of her weirdness and charm that she tries not to swear, and it’s a part of mine that I swear like a British war veteran.

“Thanks for trying.”

“Of course. So what now?”

“What now,” I repeat flatly.

I don’t know. But I do know that I can’t go back to that class. I can’t risk Bella’s life all over again. We never should have risked any of these humans’ lives like this in the first place. It’s like Russian Roulette. You might get an empty chamber; you might not. Better to put the gun down, or bury it completely.

My mind sparks with an idea, and immediately Alice’s gaze goes distant. Her vision shows me surrounded by snow and mountains, hiking and laughing and skipping rocks over a frozen lake. She focuses back on me, both sad and resigned. 

“You’re leaving.” Not a question now. A fact. A decision made. A future created.

“Yeah.” I wrap her in a tight hug, and she squeezes back just as hard. “Can you tell everyone for me? I don’t think I can…”

“Of course. As long as you come back. You _will_ come back, won’t you?”

“That’s the plan.” And for now, it is. I just need some distance. And time. Time to feed, time to prepare. 

Time to trust myself again.


End file.
